


The Matrix Reimagined

by justbygrace



Series: Stories I'll Never Write [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Descriptions of violence consistent with movie 'verse, F/M, movie 'verse - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 09:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13120713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: First one was meant to be a rewrite of 'The Matrix'. I cast Adam as Cypher if you are interested in who that conversation is with.





	The Matrix Reimagined

**Author's Note:**

> I will never finish this.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. She has no choice but to wait for him to answer. It takes him just a ring too long.

"Yeah?"

"Is everything in place?" Most important things first.

"You weren't supposed to relieve me." His voice was soft, concerned, with just enough of a touch of snark and sentiment to make her hate him.

"I know. I wanted to pick up a shift." Why she felt the need to explain herself to that bastard was more than she could remember right now.

"You just want to watch him. You like watching him, don't you." He was angry now. Angry and jealous.

"Don't be stupid." Throw him off the scent. He doesn't need to know the hours she isn't here she just spend thinking about this new one so she might as well be here.

"We're going to kill him. Just like we've killed the others. Just like we're all going to be killed." He hates the new one and it almost sounds like he is starting to hate her also. Good. It will make everything easier in the end.

"River believes in him." And I believe in River, she doesn't add.

"Do you?" He's fishing now and she won't let him win.

"Doesn't matter what I think." It both does and doesn't and it's all more complicated than he can imagine.

"You don't, do you?" This conversation is getting out of hand.

"If you've got a problem, maybe you need to take it up with River." Refer it on up the line of command. 

"Oh, I plan to. Believe me." 

"Did you hear that?" There was a tiny, almost insignificant beep but the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up at the sound.

"What? Didn't hear anything." 

"Are you sure this line is clean?" 

"Yeah, of course I'm sure. Checked it myself." Arrogant bastard.

"I have to go." She set the phone down and waited. She knows what she heard and she definitely heard a sound. She's been at this too long to mistake the sound of a traced call.

The building is old, a fire appeared to have destroyed most of it and it's sat empty for years. Well. Whatever. It's hard to think in terms of abstract no matter how many times River says that she should. There is logical knowledge and there is seeing is believing and not confusing the two has always been her hang up. She bites her lip, waiting, listening, using the other senses that she has fine-tuned over the years. The sound of approaching footsteps is unmistakable. Whoever they've sent (and hopefully it's a cocky team who think they're sent in after a lone female not agents) are obviously not aware of the noises that come from creeping through an ancient warehouse on wooden floors. If she listens closely she can pick out exactly how many they've sent...six, good, she can handle six.

She stays where she is. Back to the door, hands in her lap, seated in the rickety chair; it'll give her the advantage and the clear element of surprise. As she waits she stares at the phone on the desk in front of her. It is dusty except where her handprint has cut through the layer of grime. She wonders who else has sat here, used this phone to call people, lovers, children, the pizza guy. River would say that is a pointless sidetrack that will ultimately accomplish nothing. None of it is real and so whoever or whatever did sit here obviously didn't really call anyone. But it makes her feel better, gives her something to concentrate on while she listens to the unsubtle tramp of boots towards the room.

They pause at the doorway, unsure what to do, waiting for orders or maybe a leader. One finally steps forward, his footsteps put him about one point eight meters and seventy-five kilos, an easy target if she times this right. She remains frozen, waiting until they are where she wants them. He comes closer, hesitantly, guessing that all is not what it appears.

He waits until he is a hairs breadth from her before yelling, "Hands behind your head. Now. Do it now!" His mistake.

She stands up slowly, no sudden movements, offering her wrists for his cuffs. She feels the slide of the cool metal around one wrist and that's her cue. She spins, her left palm slamming his nose into his head, her right wrist coming down hard on his arm. She hears the bones in his nose and his arm splinter and he collapses with a shriek of agony. Another one rushes her and she swings the chair, catching him across the torso and thigh and sending him flying sideways. A third comes straight on and she jumps and kicks out, catching him squarely in the breastbone with both feet. He flies across the room, slams hard against the far wall, sliding down in a heap and moving no more. She uses the momentum to turn into a flip mid-air, smoothly snatching two guns, one from two of those left standing and fires, a continual twirl of movement and bullets. They don't have time to react. It's the work of two minutes and they are all dead. And she is not.

Tossing the empty guns to the side, she snatches her mobile, hitting the button that will connect her directly. It's answered immediately.

"River! The line was traced. I don't know how." The note of panic in her voice is unprofessional, but she can't mask it.

"I know. They cut the hardline. It's no longer a viable extraction point." River's voice is as smooth as it always is.

"Are there Agents?" She is tired and doesn't want the fight tonight.

"Yes, three." 

"Goddamnit." The curse is a knee-jerk reaction.

"You have to focus. There is a phone. Welston Lake. You can make it." This might as well be a training exercise for all the emotion in River's voice.

"Okay." She has no choice but to agree.

"Go." It's the first thing River has said that has seemed like she truly meant it.

She drops the phone and runs, skidding sideways out the door and heading for the staircase. There is an Agent at the south end flanked by another unit and she uses the wall to change direction, the fire escape is half a hallway from her position. The window above it is broken and when she is close enough she jumps up and propels herself through it feet first. She lands hard on her knees and there is another Agent at the bottom, blocking the escape that direction. With no choice she starts the climb up, putting everything she has in the sprint. She can hear the Agents gaining and though she gains the roof in moments, they are directly behind her. From there she has almost direct line to Welston by roof. It's just a matter of jumping the alleyways.

She makes the leaps easily and although she can sense the police getting further behind, one of the Agents is keeping perfect pace with her, if slightly behind. Apparently River's brutal training regimens has a good impact in this world as well. There is one more jump to make and it is wide, over twelve meters. She is calm, she's done this before though always in the training exercises and never out here. She focuses on where she wants to land, backs up, and then runs. She can hear the gasps of the officers behind her, they are sure she is about to fall, but she doesn't, running on the air and landing in a somersault, vaulting to her feet and keeping up her punishing pace. 

Over her shoulder she can hear one of the Agents behind her, he's preparing to execute the same jump. She darts sideways, back against the brick wall and waits, regaining her breath. He completes the jump, landing gracefully. She sticks her head around the edge of the brick and he fires. Biting back a curse, she scans the area. Straight ahead she can see a window. It is small, brightly lit, and about halfway down the building in front of her; she can do this. Drawing her elbows in, she runs hard, leaping at the last second and flipping her body so she is half falling, half twisting through the air feet first. She hits the window hard, glass shattering behind her. There is a stairway immediately in front of her and she ducks her head, somersaulting down and landing in a crouch, smoothly drawing her weapon and aiming for her broken entry window.

Any second she expects to see the Agent flying through. Bullets don't harm them but she's damned if she'll go down without a fight. Above her a hanging light sways with the force of her entrance and she can hear the wind whistling through the window, but that is the only indication anything was disturbed. There is no sign of an Agent. There is no bone or patch of skin on her body that does not ache, but she doesn't have time to give into the pain. She allows herself five seconds. 5....4....3....2...and she's off, running down the remaining stairs and slamming through the door and into the street. 

The payphone she is headed for is less than half a block from her and as she measures the distance she can hear it start to ring. She moves towards it with purpose, her muscles aching with protest, but she's hardly covered half the distance before she can hear the rev of an engine. There is a delivery truck coming, bearing down on the payphone and she runs, ignoring her throbbing muscles and the blood streaming down her face from a cut above her eye. She is racing the truck and she hits the payphone just seconds before it does. Grabbing up the receiver she turns back, eyes wide as the lights of the truck blind her. The last thing she sees is the grill of the truck as it slams into the payphone.


End file.
